A Sister's Love
by Emilise
Summary: Martha was not barren before the Kents found Clark. (Intended to be Lex/OC) (Looking for recommendations for title/summary)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Superman and all its affiliates belong to DC. Smallville belongs to the CW. Recognizable dialogue has been taken from episodes 1.01 and 2.07.

* * *

When Martha closes her eyes and indulges herself with fantasies, she doesn't see herself drowning in a good-looking suitor's eyes as he sweeps her off her feet; she doesn't need sweeping, and Jonathan has all the dreamy eyes she needs. She doesn't see dollar signs dancing amongst a lavish lifestyle; she gave that life up for love.

No, when Martha quiets her thoughts and concentrates, she hears the pitter-patter of tiny feet. She feels small hands grabbing at her legs, and hears the wails of a needy infant.

Martha knows what she really wants, and now that wish is coming true.

"Twins, really?" she says to the doctor administrating her ultrasound. "That's odd; they don't run in my family," and she adds, looking to her husband, "or yours either, Jonathan."

He keeps looking back and forth, a shocked gaze settling on the monitors, adoring eyes boring into her own, though he also looks to her stomach, fondly, gently, paternally. "Twins, Martha," he murmurs. Jonathan tentatively sets a hand on her swelled abdomen, carefully avoiding the sticky gel smeared across it. His other hand tightens around her own. "I can already see them getting into trouble at the farm."

When they fall silent, thinking of ambiguous figures climbing fences, milking cows, riding horses… the doctor softly offers, "Would you like to know the sexes of your children?"

Martha and Jonathan exchange a glance before Jonathan turns to the doctor and nods his affirmation.

"This one," the doctor begins, turning to the monitor and tapping the baby on the right, "is a boy. And I think that his sister," she continues, lightly rapping her knuckle against his twin, "will love you very much. Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Kent."

"Thank you, Doctor," Jonathan says. "And thank you, Martha," he murmurs, "for such beautiful, strong children."

* * *

The funeral takes place on a sunny afternoon. As the sun bakes the attendants in their black, mournful clothing, Martha sobs. Why does the sun still shine upon her, even after one of her babies has been taken away? It's so wrong, it's _wrong—_

Gasping cries emerge, slowly transforming into wails as she sinks to her knees. Someone is trying to take the baby away, but she _screams_ at them, and then shrieks her husband's name. She clutches her baby closer, hoping that her beautiful baby will put her back together. _Thank you, God, for sparing one,_ she thinks, the edges of her vision blurring with tears, _thank you for letting me have_ just one—

Jonathan appears, wraps his arms around them both, cradling them to his chest, murmuring a prayer over the grave, interrupted by soft, rumbling sobs.

The grave is small, out of necessity, and so is the headstone. The simple inscription reads,

 _Matthew Clark Kent_

 _July 18, 1982_

 _He Was Loved_

* * *

Martha and Jonathan exchange smiles as their daughter bounces and chatters in between them.

"—and so I told them to scram! I think they thought I said scram- _bull,_ 'cause then they made jokes about eggs—can we get chickens, Dad? I'd like to have fresh eggs every mornin'. Can we, can we?"

A momentary silence; she buzzes with anticipation.

"I don't see why not," he indulges, "as long as you handle most of the chores concerning these chickens."

"Yay! I'll do it, Dad, I swear!" she promises, practically vibrating in her seat.

"Settle down, sweetheart," Jonathan chuckles, gripping the steering wheel as he glances at his daughter through the corner of his eye. "You know, Rose, Lana might be in Nell's shop today. With the Homecoming game going on, her parents might be busy."

Rose stills for a moment; then she bursts into a more vibrant jig. It's difficult when sitting down, but she manages. "I love Lana! She's like the little sister I wish I had," she swoons.

As Jonathan parks the truck outside the Talon, Rose unbuckles herself and zooms out of the vehicle, climbing over Martha in her haste to escape, making a beeline for the flower shop next door. Her parents chuckle and follow more sedately.

When they enter the shop, Jonathan converses with Nell as Martha approaches the twosome cuddling at a small table in the back of the shop.

Lana, smartly dressed in a poofy gown and tiara with little wings attached to her back, glances up as she approaches. Rose whispers something in her ear.

Lana looks up at Martha and asks, "Do you wanna make a wish?"

"I would love to make a wish," Martha responds.

She smiles gently at the sight of her daughter wrapped around her playmate, and closes her eyes to wish, _That. I want that,_ as Lana waves her wand over Martha and casts, "Abracadabra," gently tapping Martha's forehead with the instrument.

"Can I make a wish, Lana?" Rose requests.

"Yep!" Lana nods, smiling as she turns to grant her friend a wish.

"I wish I had a little sister. Or brother," Rose says, her eyes shut tight; a small furrow forms between her brows as Lana declares, "Abracadabra."

"Whoosh!" Lana says, and exclaims, "Your wish came true! _I'm_ your little sister!"

"I knew it!" Rose declares, covering the younger girl with tickles.

Martha beams at the squirming, giggling girls and shakes her head at Jonathan as he approaches. "We should ask her parents if we can have her over sometime," she mentions to her husband. She places a hand on her belly and murmurs, "I wish we could give her a _real_ sibling."

Jonathan hugs her with his free hand, and hands her a resplendent bouquet of red tulips with the other. He then kneels to offer a single tiger lily to their daughter. "Time to go, pumpkin," he says.

Rose pouts, but kisses Lana on the cheek easily enough before springing to her feet and grabbing Jonathan's hand, clutching the orange flower tightly in the other.

"Ready!" she declares, and is escorted to the car.

* * *

They're on the road when the meteors hit.

Rose sees them first, pointing to the shapes zooming across the sky, and crows, "Cool! Big shooting stars!"

Martha looks, alarmed, and can _feel_ the impact as they begin to strike the cornfields around them. "What happening, Jonathan?" she hoarsely trills, leaning over to wrap both arms around Rose.

The truck veers off the road before he has a chance to respond, flipping over twice. Rose _laughs,_ as if it's fun! Martha screams a little.

They're still dizzy when Jonathan croaks, "Martha?"

Both Rose and Martha peer around him to their left, and see, the inverted shape of a small boy.

"It's my brother!" Rose shrieks. "I wished for him, and _he came!_ "

She unbuckles her seatbelt and falls to the ground; she scrambles around Jonathan through the broken window to almost tackle the unsuspecting child in a hug.

He doesn't respond except for a look of wonder.

"Mama, he must be _cold,"_ Rose prompts, and Martha also scrambles out of the car, grabbing a blanket stowed in the glove compartment to wrap around him. She scoops him up and Jonathan does the same for Rose. As they walk the way the boy came from, Jonathan says, shaking his head, "Kid don't just fall out of the sky, Martha."

"Then where did he come from?" Martha wonders.

"I don't know," Jonathan admits, traipsing along, "but he must have parents."

"Well if he does," Martha replies smartly as they come across a strange capsule, "they're definitely not from Kansas."

Jonathan looks to the sky in wonder, and turns the same expression to the child in Martha's arms. "Sweetheart, we can't keep him," he tries to convince her. "What are we gonna tell people, we found him out in a field?"

"We didn't find him," Martha murmurs, squeezing him gently. "Like Rose said; he found us." She kisses the boy's cheek, and Jonathan returns his gaze to the sky.

After a few moments of silence, Jonathan sets Rose down and orders, "Stay with your mother."

He runs off.

Martha frees a hand and runs it reassuringly through her daughter's strawberry blonde hair. "Your father's looking for help," she explains.

"Okay," Rose murmurs, squeezing the boy's foot. He giggles, and so Rose does it again. Soon, they're playing as if they're already siblings. _I think they are,_ Martha admits to herself.

Jonathan soon returns with a truck, and they load up the boy's—well, Martha doesn't know what to call it but a ship, so—the boy's ship. They then pile into the truck, the boy and Rose sharing space on Martha's lap and Jonathan steering them steadily towards home.

"Jonathan, look out!" Martha warns, momentarily distracted from the children amusing themselves with each other on her lap.

A man with a long, black trenchcoat and shoulder-length, reddish brown hair is in the middle of the road, waving his arms. Jonathan slams the brakes more carefully than last time, and the man approaches the driver's side.

The man is drenched with sweat; his hair is unkempt. Jonathan exits the truck and demands, "Are you all right?"

"My son," the man gasps.

"What about him? He hurt?"

The man gasps out the beginnings of a few sentences, but can't seem to say anymore

Jonathan tells the man to calm down and says, shortly, "Where. Is your son?"

The man stammers and points.

Jonathan _runs._ Martha shifts her weight and coos nonsense to the children in her lap.

* * *

When Jonathan comes back, the man is carrying a bald boy around Rose's age, wrapped in Jonathan's coat. Martha shuffles over to the middle seat to accommodate him, and Rose curiously reaches for the boy before a sharp look from his father stops her. It's sufficient enough to turn her attention back to Martha's boy, but not before she leans up to Martha and whispers, loudly, "Is he okay?"

Martha's not sure if Rose is referring to the boy or his father, but either way—"I'm not sure, honey."

As they begin to drive towards the hospital, the man demands, "Can't this thing go any faster?"

"We're doing the best that we can," Jonathan reports.

The man glances towards the truck bed and wonders, "What are you carrying back there? It's slowing us down."

Nobody responds.

The man's son's eyes open, briefly, and look towards Rose and Martha's boy. Rose and her companion reach out and, simultaneously, caress the boy's bald head comfortingly. His eyes roll back into his head, and the man looks on worriedly.

They make it to the hospital without further consequence, but once they enter, the man throws around his name (Lionel Luthor) and produces fistsful of cash from seemingly nowhere. His son gets a room fairly quickly.

Martha quietly drives Rose, the boy, and his spaceship home as Jonathan waits in the hospital to see about the man's son.

* * *

They procure some of Rose's old toys, and even some of Jonathan's leftovers from the attic. The boy is now wearing one of Rose's nightgowns; she giggles at the sight of him in flowers and frills. She sits and quietly plays with him, though showing him what the toys do and making various noises to illustrate. Martha sits at the table and watches.

Jonathan keeps trying to tell Martha (and Rose, incidentally) that they can't keep him. Martha doesn't listen, but once there's a knock on the door, she willingly spirits him upstairs. Rose follows, and they continue to play.

The boy hears the rumble of an unfamiliar voice, though, and sprints around Rose and Martha to see the new face. Martha nervously introduces him as "Clark," an impulse which breaks her heart when she thinks about her first son.

Martha, Jonathan, and the sheriff make idle conversation about Clark's supposed adoption, and then the sheriff leaves.

And Clark Kent becomes Rose's little brother.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** This story is intended to become Lex/Rose (though that may change, depending on where the plot goes).

The premise is this: Martha and Jonathan had a daughter (and a son, deceased), biologically their own, before Clark landed on Earth. Clark grows up with a sister (who can tell him stuff about girls he is _obviously_ lost about) who shares the burden of his secret (and she may even have a few of her own...).

Feel free to tell me what worked for you, and what didn't. I'm open to suggestions on certain areas, especially the title (which is currently only a placeholder) and summary.

Is third person a good medium for this story? Should I switch to first person from Rose from this point on? What are you hoping to see as far as character relationships and plot go?

Word Count: 1968 words


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Recognizable dialogue taken from episode 1.01.

* * *

Rosemary awakens. She yawns, scratches her head, fluffs her snarled, red head of hair. She reaches over to silence the alarm before it blares, and fumbles for a hairbrush to smooth through the rat's nest resting atop her head.

When her hair is sufficiently detangled, she grabs a hair tie from her bedside table, catches it in her teeth, and smooths the length into a ponytail. The hair tie wraps around the end, and now she can truly begin to get ready. She pulls on a pair of jeans, shrugs her way into a shirt, and stumbles downstairs. After a brief stop in the bathroom so she can brush her teeth and wash her face, she snags an apple from a bowl on the counter to munch on as she does her chores.

The chickens are first, of course. The chickens have always been first, ever since they bought them eleven years ago. She sneaks into their coop and gathers a basket of eggs before opening a small gate so they can wander into their pen. She spreads their feed generously, then brings the eggs back into the house.

Her father is awake, now. He gently tugs on Rosemary's ponytail as he kisses her on the cheek from where he's sitting at the table. His stubble scratches her cheeks as he rasps, "Mornin', honey."

She sets the eggs down and grins at him, chirping, "Morning, Dad!" Then she's off again, heading towards the barn to milk the cows. She does so, humming a cheery albeit tonedeaf tune as she works their udders. Then she lets them outside to join the rest of the herd for the day; one refuses to go, and Rosemary pats her side, frowning. "Are you all right, girl?"

Another pat, and the cow croons pitifully.

Rosemary's frown intensifies. "We'll take care of you," she promises. "If Dad doesn't know what's wrong, the vet certainly will."

She runs back to the house, where her mother is bustling about, preparing breakfast. "Mom, something's wrong with Juniper," she reports, biting her lip and fiddling with the end of her ponytail.

"That's not good," Martha responds. She pulls a tray of cinnamon rolls from the oven, sets them down on the counter. "I'll let your father know."

"Thanks, Mom," Rosemary sighs. She glances up the stairs and guesses, "Clark isn't up yet, is he."

Martha smiles and continues to bustle around the kitchen, shaking her head. "Afraid not," she responds.

Rosemary rolls her eyes as she tromps up the stairs. As she tiptoes to Clark's room and taps the door open, the hinges creak. She strolls through the door and readies herself to pounce on Clark's bed to wake him, but—

Clark isn't on his bed. Instead, he's in the corner of his room, his eyes zooming across the computer screen as his fingers clack along the keyboard. "Hey, doing some research for Chloe?" Rosemary jokes, trotting over and fluffing the hair on his head. She bumps her hip against his shoulder

"Ha, ha," Clark deadpans. "No, nothing like that." He abruptly closes the browser and shuts down the rickety desktop, shooing her hand away and carefully arranging his (newly ruffled) hairstyle.

Rosemary simply raises an eyebrow at her brother and rolls her eyes meaningfully towards the computer. Clark blushes, but Rosemary doesn't acknowledge his change in expression. "If you sit there any longer, you're gonna miss the bu-us," she chimes in a sing-song voice.

Clark shoots to his feet, sending his chair skidding backwards forcefully. "Shoot!" he groans. "If I do, Chloe and Pete will never let me hear the end of it!"

Rosemary beckons him out of his room and follows on his heels as he practically falls down the narrow staircase. She stifles a laugh and steadies him as he continues his mad dash—not out the door, but towards the fridge.

Martha absentmindedly scolds Clark as he attempts to swig milk directly from a bottle. Clark cleverly alludes to being raised on a farm, but Rosemary scoffs and interrupts by reasoning, "And so was I, but _I_ know how to use a glass." She demonstrates by procuring one from a cabinet and gulping down milk herself.

When she releases a hearty belch, Clark grins and remarks, "Yes, how civilized."

Jonathan swings through the door and teases Clark about his tendency to oversleep, pointing to Rosemary and commenting, "Unlike your sister and me, who've been up since the crack of dawn."

Martha, after handing Jonathan a mug and the bottle of milk (Martha doesn't notice when he drinks the milk directly from the bottle, too. Like father, like son, Rosemary supposes, but Clark sends his dad the evil eye), reminds everyone, "Don't forget, I have class tonight, so you guys are on your own; Clark, you and Rosemary are in charge of dinner."

Clark grumbles good-naturedly, but glances down at a half-sheet of paper clenched in his hands.

Jonathan notices, and asks what it is.

Rosemary busies herself with tidying up the already spotless table, trying to stay out of the ensuing argument and keep up her positive demeanor. Her attempt is proved unsuccessful when Clark points out Jonathan's involvement in high school sports, as well as remarking, "And you let Rosemary join cheerleading! Heck, she even played powderpuff football whenever they picked up a game."

"That's different, son," Jonathan remarks, a false lightness in his tone. "Cheerleading is not a contact sport, really, and there's no _tackling_ in powderpuff. Plus, your sister didn't—" He cuts himself off quickly with a sharp glance at his daughter.

"Please leave me out of this," Rosemary mutters, gloom overtaking her expression. "I just want to forget high school, really."

As Jonathan concludes his half of the conversation with a paternal pat of Clark's shoulder, Rosemary approaches Clark and squeezes an arm around his waist as he murmurs, "I'm sick of hanging in there." He pouts in her directions as he pointedly adds, "All I want to do is go through high school without being a total loser."

"Clark!" Martha gasps. "That was completely uncalled for, young man."

"Sorry," he mutters, grabbing his coat and backpack as he swings out the door.

Rosemary forces a smile. "It's fine," she attempts to placate her parents, her voice high with shrill cheer. "Clark didn't mean anything by it. Besides, rather a loser than some undefined position in the middle, hey?"

Though Jonathan approaches her, arms open for a hug, Rosemary instead follows Clark and swoops out the door.

She watches Clark watch the bus pull away, and her false smile melts into a true one as he zooms after it.

She follows after, but at a more sedate pace, and with a different destination in mind: work. It's back to the daily grind, though she did enjoy the weekend's rest.

* * *

She meets Clark around four o'clock at what she thinks of as "their" bridge. Though he claims the loft as his own space, and she a tree house in the middle of their land as hers, built as a father/daughter project the summer before they found Clark, their mutual territory falls in the middle of town, on a bridge overlooking the river on the highway.

Clark claims it's a nice place to think away from home, while she appreciates the distance from their parents that allows them to freely interact for a while. Of course, it's easily accessible to Clark, who practically has all of Smallville less than five minutes away, but she has a bit of a longer trek to it. Jonathan needs the truck today, so she's left to walk, which she doesn't mind. It's only about five miles from their house, so she sets off at a brisk pace an hour ahead of their unofficial meeting time.

She uses the time to think about her future, which distracts her from the slight burn in her calves and the achiness of her feet as she eats up the distance.

She thinks about her past first, though. A relieved light shines upon the memory of her high school graduation, and delight colors her first semester at Met U.

Her only semester, unfortunately.

After her exams, she came home, ready to celebrate Christmas with her family and share laughs about what was happening on the farm and her stories of various college shenanigans. Unfortunately, before she even put her things in her room, her parents sat her and Clark down for a serious talk.

Their farmhand had found work at LuthorCorp (Jonathan's face tightened as he uttered the name), so they needed Clark to pitch in more and more.

When Rosemary absentmindedly wondered what this had to do with her, her parents shared a look before Martha reached out to take her hand. "I'm sorry, sweetie," she said, sympathy casting a soft shadow over her kind eyes. "I'm afraid your father and I need you around the farm this season. You can if you'd like, of course, we'd never stop you, but—your father and I would really appreciate it if you stayed home this year to help us around the farm."

Of course Rosemary agreed, she'd never _think_ of doing anything else; she loves her parents with her whole heart and soul, after all, and Clark perhaps even more, if possible, so she didn't want them to suffer through any more difficult times than they had to. She deferred her second semester at Met U for the next autumn, or perhaps spring, at latest, to spend time at home. She got a job at the local coffee shop to generate her own retinue, instead of taking advantage of her parents, and even buys groceries once in a while (which her parents protest, but hey, it's her money, right?)

Except, now she doesn't know if she _can_ go back to Met U. She liked college life while she was there, but now, thinking back on it? She much prefers the serenity of the farm, and the familiarity of her hometown. She wants to see Clark go through high school, watch his football games if he _does_ end up playing against her expectations; he was there for her, so she wants to do the same for him.

But… if she doesn't go back, will her family be disappointed with her?

No. Never. So if she truly feels she should, she should stay.

Happy with her decision, Rosemary smiles at her timing as the bridge comes into view.

She arrives before Clark, which is a rarity. She stares at the river for a bit before bending down to grab some loose stones from the edge of the highway. She tosses them in one by one, fully admiring the circles rippling out from one's splash before causing more.

She has three rocks left when Clark arrives with a whoosh of air, knocking the lightweight pebbles from her open palm.

Rosemary raises an eyebrow at her scowling sibling. She reaches up and rubs a smear of dirt from his cheek, playfully remarking, "What were you doing, playing in the mud?"

Clark knocks her hand away and mutters, "Just tossing around a football with Pete, that's all."

Rosemary softens. She reaches out, wraps her arms around his middle, and tugs her to him. "Oh, Clark," she whispers, rubbing a hand up and down his back, "I wish Dad had said yes, y'know? I knew he wouldn't, and I told you that, didn't I, but—it didn't stop you from hoping, did it?"

Clark sniffles. _He's only a freshman, a little baby,_ Rosemary's heart sings; _when you were a freshman, you were so full of_ hope _, please save Clark from the cynicism of the world—_

Rosemary backs away and smiles at his face, his red, puffy eyes, his reluctantly tearstained cheeks. "C'mon, sit," she beckons, clambering onto the bridge and gesturing for him to do the same.

Clark sits, and leans on her, and sighs. Rosemary bumps him gently and says, "So! Tell me about school."

Clark is silent for a moment longer, but then begins to speak. Rosemary listens.

As he's regaling her with a tale of Chloe's supposed "Wall of Weird" (Rosemary can think of a few more examples that could grace the wall that don't even involve Clark, and smiles when she thinks of sharing them with Chloe), she hears a faint thud from behind them.

She glances over her shoulder, still listening to Clark's complaints with half an ear (appropriately, he's now moved onto the topic of his long-suffering, unrequited love: Lana Lang), making various acknowledging noises as he rambles on. She sees a thin, metal-coated tube on the highway, and interrupts Clark by saying, "Hey, Clark, you should move that."

He glances at it and swings off of the bridge, easily lifting her from her perch as well. When he moves to approach the tube, however, a silver, sleek car lurches into it, and minimally explodes as it swings wildly out of control.

It's headed straight towards them. Rosemary meets the driver's eyes for a panicked moment before Clark wraps himself around her, grunting as he takes the brunt of the hit.

It knocks them off the bridge entirely; Clark's body must be tougher than the rails of the bridge, as the impact of his body combined with the velocity of the car peels them back, ripping them down the center. Rosemary wildly wonders if the song was wrong, because surely "all the force of a great typhoon" can't be equal to _this_ , because this feels like significantly more than she ever imagined _that_ could be. When the water slams into them (or so it seems, from her perspective), Clark lets her go as soon as she starts struggling towards the surface; it seems as though he's assured about her ability to swim to the bank. She does so.

When Rosemary reaches the muddy slope of the river, she turns back to look for Clark, but he's nowhere to be seen. She panics, but only briefly, because soon enough she sees bubbles rising from the middle of the river, and Clark surfaces, the driver relatively secure in his grip.

When Clark drags him onto the shore, she pushes her brother away, listens for the man's breathing, and rushes into action when she doesn't hear or feel any. She compresses his chest tightly, chanting the beat of the song "Stayin' Alive" in her head ( _Thanks, CPR class,_ a wild thought shoots somewhere in the less focused portion of her brain). After fifteen compressions ( _was it supposed to be thirty? I can't remember I can't remember KEEP HIM ALIVE_ ) she tilts his head back and presses her mouth to his, forcing air to inflate his chest. She gives him another gasp of air before returning to compressions.

"Are you ready—" she starts to say, about to ask Clark if he'll take over, before she's cut off by a burst of water seeping from the man's mouth. He coughs, expelling the rest of the water. He goes into another wild coughing fit before staring up at Rosemary incredulously; his eyes flick to Clark for a fraction of a second before his focus is entirely on her. Rosemary feels her cheeks warm at the intensity of his gaze, feeling it searing into her own, melting her barely-kept calm.

Her breathing grows shallower as the man groans, "I could've sworn I hit you."

"If you had," Clark interrupts, drawing Rosemary to him, glancing warily at the ravaged bridge, "we'd be dead."

They fall silent for a moment before Rosemary drifts out of Clark's grip and towards the driver. She kneels next to him and gently touches his cheek, rubbing an oval around the laceration of his skin. "You're bleeding," she observes detachedly, and pulls a soaked tissue from her pocket to dab the wound.

"…Thanks," he says uncomfortably, and, with an uncertain glance at Clark, continues, "I'm Lex. Lex Luthor."

"Clark Kent," Clark returns stiffly, "and this is my sister Rose."

Rosemary's arm flutters down to her side, dropping the red-stained tissue to the ground. "Or Rosemary, if you prefer," she softly corrects.

"Clark, Rosemary," Lex addresses them, again focusing mostly on her, "I can't thank you enough for saving my life."

She hears a car zoom by on the highway, followed by the screech of brakes.

A voice screams, "Oh my God!" The owner of the voice rushes down the bank, and looks relieved when she sees the three of them sitting there, almost healthy but certainly quite alive. "I'll go get someone to help!" she declares, and dashes back up the hill to screech away towards Smallville.

"Well, thank God that this is a busy highway," Lex remarks absently.

Rosemary is staring at him.

He shifts, and can't seem to focus on her. "...I—apologize," he says stiffly, "for—hitting you?" He seems confused, and corrects himself, looking for the right words, "Or for scaring you at any rate," and when Rosemary's gaze doesn't budge, he alters, "For speeding," and then finally mutters, "If you don't mind, would you _stop staring?_ "

"I _know_ you,"Rosemary declares, a revelation unfurling in her mind. "What do you remember about October fourteenth, 'eighty-nine?"

Lex flinches minutely, and he uncertainly raises a hand to his bald head. "That's the day…" His eyes sparkle with realization. "I _do_ remember you," he acknowledges calmly, and even more stiffly.

Rosemary smiles. "That's the day Clark found us," she confides, "but we found _you_ and your—dad? I think it was your dad—on the road, and we brought you to the hospital, and you seem to be doing all right, hey? Well, besides the whole speeding thing. You should work on that."

Lex seems stunned for a moment, before a red flush overtakes his whole face. And his _head,_ Rosemary observes, fascinated, that turns red _too._

( _I'm in shock_ , the same corner says with stunning realization. _I_ never _babble like this, must be the shock, and why isn't Clark_ saying anything _?_ )

She turns to her brother abruptly; he's mounted the hill and seems to be looking out for the return of the friendly passerby who'd stopped before. As she observes him, however, he waves his arms and the sound of sirens reaches her ears.

Rosemary loses track of what exactly happens after that until her father envelops her in his embrace, but:

Various emergency responders arrive on the scene and gently separate the three of them before tenderly extracting answers about the situation. That takes a while, but then Jonathan finally arrives, sprinting down the river's bank to catch Rosemary in a fierce hug. "Rose! Clark!" he says, releasing one child to move onto the next; Rosemary clutches the shock blanket closer to her and curls tighter into herself as he demands, "Are you all right?"

"Fine, Dad," Clark barely gets out before Jonathan is off again.

"Who's the maniac who was driving that car?"

"That would be me," Lex says, sauntering up from where he was conversing with an officer. _He's surprisingly composed for someone who was legally dead half an hour ago,_ Rosemary blankly observes. "Lex Luthor." Incredulously, she watches as he _reaches out to her dad for a handshake._

Jonathan stares at him for a moment before ripping off his jacket and, after a moment's hesitation, laying over Clark's shoulders. "Jonathan Kent," he introduces roughly as he situates it to his liking. "These are my kids."

"Thanks for saving my life," Lex repeats, glancing between Clark and Rosemary, as if unsure who to address.

"You've already said that," Rosemary mumbles, shivering.

Lex catches her gaze again, and her breath catches at his _blue_ focus. "It deserves repeating," he softly says.

Jonathan shakes his head as he ushers his children towards his truck. Rosemary lightly tunes out, but still hears Lex say, "You have quite extraordinary children, Mr. Kent—if there's anything I can do to repay you—"

"You've done enough, thanks," she hears her father roughly respond. "But you can try driving slower, for a start."

* * *

Martha fusses when they arrive at home. Clark, after enduring it for about five minutes, retreats to his loft. Rosemary can't withstand it for much longer, either, and excuses herself quickly. "I'm going to bed," she justifies, and does just that, falling asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Constructive criticism welcome, especially if you tell me what worked/didn't work for you, and point out any typos I may have missed.

Are the characters in character? Do you like Rose(mary)? Do you think Rosemary and Lex have chemistry? Is her past (or what you've seen of it) believable?

I hope to keep up at least a biweekly update schedule (though no exact days have been determined) (and this is the biweekly where it's every other week, not twice a week).

The first episode should be completed in the next installment.

Chapter word count: 3390

Total word count: 5358

(P.S. If you're interested in being my beta, shoot me a message. I could use one.)


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